


Rifleman's Creed

by Veirtyel



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: American Civil War, Historical, Non-Graphic Violence, Sniper! Nicky, Snipers, Team Dynamics, World War I, basically the history behind Nicky and his centuries as a sniper, historical accuracy? idk im trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veirtyel/pseuds/Veirtyel
Summary: The first time Nicolo di Genova shot and killed someone with a snipers rifle was during the Crimean War in 1854.It was the first, but it would not be the last.A brief history of Nicky and his past as one of the best snipers in the world.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 4
Kudos: 127





	Rifleman's Creed

_This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine._

The first time Nicky picked up a sniper rifle was during the Crimean War, 1854. A new form of warfare has been on the rise in the world; sniping.

It was deadly and bloody. Hours upon hours of sitting and waiting until the inevitable moment you pulled the trigger your finger had been itching to touch. It was a skill that required patience, a steady hand, and the ability to push away your surroundings to the point where it was just you, your rifle, and your target in the world.

Nicky was perfect for it.

Keeping up with the times was vital for the immortals. This included becoming familiar with the slew of new weapons humanity was obsessed with creating, improving, and using.

The Whitworth rifle was just one of them.

Nicky became one of the best snipers on their side of the war. It came naturally to him. He learned to stay uneasily still, to slow and steady his breathing within seconds, and practice until he didn’t blink at the recoil of a gun anymore. 

The first time he shot a man with his rifle, he was laying on a rock, overlooking a battlefield littered with the dead on both sides. He saw figures that were Joe, Andy, and Booker scavenging around, looking for survivors, ammo, food, anything to bring back to the citizens back to the ravaged town just outside Varna.

A man, in the distance. A wandering soldier with a gun in hand pointed up towards the others—no real threat, but a danger, nonetheless.

Nicky brought the scope up to his eye, the cool metal of his rifle cold against his cheek. With his chest on the rock and the man in his range, he pulled, earning his first kill with a sniper rifle.

The weapons' echoing sound could be heard across the field, turning the heads of the others and wondering soldiers.

Andy nodded her head towards Nicky’s direction in thanks, then went back to scavenging.

The kill felt no different than the thousands of others who have died at Nicky’s hand over the years, but the feel of the rifle he carried made it unique. His rifle, in which there would be variations of in the oncoming years, was now a part of him.

_My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life._

The Civil War sought their help, fighting for the Union. Andy, disguised as a man, led a small group of men throughout the south, taking out Confederates and scouting their numbers to report back to the Union army.

Nicky was sent ahead on occasion, as the job of a sniper was often lead scout. After about ten years of experience with the weapon, he was better than most if not all men in the Union army, the exception being some of the men who came from frontier families, the ones who grew up with a rifle in their hand.

But Nicky often was even better. He has mastered the gun as he has mastered himself.

Stories of the marksman with the large eyes made its rounds among their camp. He was quiet, often sticking close to the man with the dark beard, or the one who not-so-discreetly drank from his flask hidden in his coat. He would mostly report to the man who drew the suspicious eyes of others, but whom none dared to question.

He could be so still at times you’d think him dead, sitting there with his rifle between his legs, protecting it like a prized possession.

Some people spread rumors he had come from Italy, escaping the police because he was a sharpshooting mercenary. Others thought him merely as an American hunter, drafted into the Union for his skills.

Some feared him. Most respected him, especially after saving all their lives.

It had been dark, the sun long gone had dipped under the horizon hours ago. No one heard or saw the Confederate spy just outside their camp.

Nicky did.

He unwrapped himself from Joe, waking him in the process but shushed him with a finger to his lips and cocking his head outside their tent. Grabbing his rifle, he made his way outside to were he heard the crack of branches in the woods he knew no member of the Union would be brave enough to venture out into. They were close in enemy territory, after all.

He crouched just outside the wooded area, knowing, sensing the presence of the enemy. Nicky knew his presence was known as well, because the moment Nicky lifted the gun to his line of sight into the woods, he heard the unmistakable sound of feet hitting and breaking the branches and leaves of the forest, a frantic pace that slowly got quieter with each passing second.

A shot rang out, and a thud heard a moment later. Too tired to check, but confident enough in his skills, Nicky went back to his tent, telling Joe _I took care of it, go back to sleep,_ when asked what was wrong. Joe was also confident enough in Nicky’s skills to trust his word.

The next morning the body of a confederate scout was found. He was deep in the woods, a gunshot wound in the middle of his back.

After that, people still feared the sniper with large eyes, but everyone respected him.

_I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me._

World War One, but the Great War at the time, called them again and Nicky's skills.

A different type of skill, that is. He and Joe had joined the British army this time around while Andy and Booker were off working espionage down in France.

Somehow Nicky had been chosen as a medic, so that left him running around Ypres, Belgium, patching up men and holding their guts in their bodies until they could get transferred to an aid station. He hated it.

He wanted to help people, that's all he ever wanted to do, but when he couldn't save the life of a man who's eyes stared at him until he took his last breath, it killed him.

But he had a job to do, and dammit, he's fought more wars than he can remember, he can make it through this one.

That left him and a couple of other men traveling up the destroyed trench in Passchendaele, looking for leftover ammo, food, and hopefully bandages or extra clean shoes. Trench foot took too many of these men, and it angered Nicky that a simple pair of decent shoes could decide whether a man lives or dies.

Then Nicky saw it. A small flash of something off beyond the trench on top of the hill between them and the enemy.

"Get down!" he yelled, but it was too late. Smithy collapsed with a sniper's bullet in the neck before he could even turn his head.

The two other men with Nicky threw themselves to the ground immediately, a destroyed trench and the height of the Sniper's position making it impossible to lift their heads any higher without risk of catching a bullet.

"Fuck, Smithy!" yelled Dickens, but Smithy's lifeless eyes stared back at them, blood still oozing from his neck.

Nicky could survive this. He could run and hope that the Sniper's bullet missed, but Dickens and Will didn't have that luxury. Will, a kid really, had his hands covering his ears and muttering something under his breath as a bullet rang out again and hit the muddy water to their left.

"Fuck! We need to move, Nick!" Dickens yelled again, pulling Will to the wall of the trench Nicky currently had his back against.

Nicky grunted angrily at nothing in particular. He grabbed Dickens' gun out of his hand and moved up the muddy trench on his stomach, trying to get a better look at the Sniper who had them pinned.

"Nick! What the fuck are you doing! You're a medic!" yelled Dickens again as he tried to grab at Nicky, but he was already too far ahead.

The gun was no sniper rifle, but even with a regular handgun, Nicky was already a better shot than Andy, Booker, and Joe. He'd taken to guns the best out of all of them when they were introduced to the world.

While still on his stomach, he lifted Dickens's gun to his eye, aiming at the Sniper on the hill. He could barely see him, but the shine of his scope by the sun gave him away. Nicky hadn't shot a gun much during this war, as a medic, he never got the chance, but the skill was something he had that would never falter. Right now, he will shoot this man before he shoots him.

His finger pulled the trigger, and just a moment later, the shining light disappeared from view.

Dickens was awestruck as Nicky handed the gun back to him. Nicky ignored his look, and took Will by the shoulder, ushering him back to the other men where he would most likely diagnose him as shell shocked.

_My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother._

Modern-day sniper rifles were far different than they were back in the 1800s. For one, Nicky had a better view of what he was shooting. The range was more extended, more accurate, which meant with each new modification made to his gun, he had to learn and adjust to it. 

Joe became his spotter. Modern-day warfare has sniper/spotter teams, and now that Nicky mostly used his rifle when taking out a single target they couldn't risk losing, Joe came in handy.

They sat on top of a building in Bucharest, Romania, 1992. The mission was for Andy to make a “deal” with a man who dealt with weaponry he sold with terrorist groups worldwide.

Take him out, and then it's easier to take down the organization as a whole and save lives.

The man would only meet in public. Joe had already spotted his men around the area he had planted. Smart.

They're smarter.

Nicky was going to shoot the guy and anyone else who got in Andy's way. Booker was waiting around the corner on a motorcycle for her quick escape.

"The man with the newspaper to their left, the woman with the fake baby stroller, and the man at the bar who's been nursing his beer in the last 10 minutes."

Nicky smirked at Joe's comment, knowing he was already looking at Nicky to see how he reacted.

But Nicky's attention was already back on the man sitting in front of Andy. His finger was hovering over the trigger, itching to pull, but he was patient. The man was trying to intimidate Andy, but she remained unphased. Andy said something that made the man's eyes widen. She cocked her head towards the building opposite Nicky's position. He smiled.

The bullet rang out, and within a second, a man was dead on the ground, Andy was already gone, and the goon's who didn't attempt to follow Andy were making their way towards the building Andy had gestured to.

Nicky pulled his head away from the gun and started disassembling it immediately, putting the pieces in his rifle case. He didn't need to think about it anymore. The act came as an instinct to him now. His hands flew to take apart the scope and remove the cartridge from his rifle.

He felt Joe's eyes on him as he disassembled, then took his hand as he boosted him up.

"What?" he asked as Joe stared fondly at him.

"Nothing. You just take care of that gun like it's your baby."

Nicky nudged him with his shoulder, earning him a small chuckle from Joe.

Both men then made their way out of the building before the police began a broader search.

Nicky knew Joe was joking, but his rifle was not his baby. It was an extension of himself. They both knew that.

_I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. We will become part of each other._

"You need to learn every part of this weapon, Nile," Nicky explained. 

Nile sat crossed-legged in front of Nicky in the Verona sun on the balcony of the small house he and Joe owned. Between them laid a blanket with all the pieces of his rifle laid out. He sat cross-legged as well as Nile watched him methodically take the rifle he was so fond of apart.

"Not just so you can understand what it's made of, but understand it almost as well as you understand yourself."

Nile witnessed how good of a shot he was on their last mission when he took out two guards in the head with one shot at a distance of 500 yards. What surprised her, even more, was how quickly and casually he caught the bullet and moved on, like he'd done it a thousand times before.

She didn't think it was cold of him. She knew he had no problem killing for the mission; she didn't either.

She thought about how long he had been a sniper and how many kills it took him to master the craft.

She knew people in the corps who were considered the best of the best with only about max six years experience. Nicky was over 900 years old and was there for the invention of the rifle.

So, Nile had asked him to teach her how. The lesson started with dismantling the rifle, then putting it all together again, learning every piece and name.

"I've taken many lives with this rifle. It has aged with me, has changed as I have, and killed with me. As it will with you."

Nicky had completed taking it apart and was now taking it back together.

While she probably wouldn't take too a sword, Nile could likely become accustomed to a sniper rifle.

"The rifle is just an extension of yourself, Nile. Sniping takes patience, a still hand, and the ability to push away your surroundings."

Nile nodded as she listened and watched Nicky move his hands swiftly as he assembled the weapon. It was insane how good he was at it. She never thought she'd have the time to become as mastered at anything as he was at this, or Joe as art, or Andy with every fighting style imaginable.

Now, Nile has all the time in the world.

"Okay," Nicky said as he finished off by putting it together by clicking in the chamber. "Your turn."

Nile took a deep breath. She'd done this a thousand times in basic, disassembling, or reassembling a weapon, but somehow, this felt more important, like she was inheriting something.

She took the rifle from his outstretched hand and began disassembling it.

Nile didn't notice the smile on his face as she worked on the rifle.

_Before God, I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life.  
So be it, until there is no enemy, but peace. Amen._

**Author's Note:**

> The Rifleman's Creed-A part of basic United States Marine Corps doctrine. Major General William H. Rupertus wrote it during World War II, probably in late 1941 or early 1942. In the past, all enlisted Marines would learn the creed at recruit training.
> 
> It is no longer required.


End file.
